The Princess and the Rabbit
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or setting.
This fanfiction was made for fun, not profit.
Epic Mickey is owned by Disney.
Oswald the Lucky Rabbit is owned by Disney and Universal.
Princess Tutu is owned by GANSIS/TUTU and ADV Films
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Chapter 10
The morning sun had started to clear away the fog as Piké and Lilié arrived early to the Academy main building. Barely anyone had arrived yet, only the most dedicated to their craft entered into the courtyard at this hour.
"I'm sorry to walk you up this early, Lilié," Piké told her friend.
"Blaxhrk hjrdgbnne sdahj xeuopsz jkeqaddnf," Lilié replied in kind with a yawn.
"It's just that this is the best time to avoid Fakir," she gave a sigh as she said this, "he probably doesn't want to see me after last time."
"Gquxer njpow wgd rjnxe oiepbnf cskpllg mj fdeshbv mjred fdg kjhg," Lilié put in.
"We don't need any distractions, anyway. I thought about it alot last night and I decided that the only clue we have to go on is the fact that my last dream reenacted the last page of 'The Prince and the Raven'..."
"Blixpnw thfges kpoli hy gfrd vbjwa pqusmmg urt plla plla," Lilié reminded her, removing sleep from her eyes.
"...So, the best thing I could think of was to find as much information as we could find on the book. It only makes sense. And then we can prove Fakir innocent, that we're mature and that Oswald is a big stupid head."
"Yoda eux hndss klogh jkoope ncvea j azey kdsg jtwp qudfe jdsnomm dgs, fgrst cvxxsa zhfzet kshersih b gdaml xhexa llklrlsdfl knnsepnans hd g. Hdprt ghpqu hjanenn gzepnnru g rsy opppppp. Brimmd glok spprin plouc tata c wimgit fitre gol namf," Lilié finished.
They entered the old library through the ornate double doors and approached the front desk, at which sat a boy that seemed far too young to be working, especially at this early hour.
"Good mornin', ladies," he said in a cute little cockney accent, "may I 'elp ya?"
Piké gave the boy a friendly smile while Lilié just stared off into a nearby wall.
"Yes," Piké answered, "we would like to see any information you have on Herr Drosselmeyer's 'The Prince and the Raven'."
"Ah, you're in luck, ma'am. We just 'appen ter 'ave wahn of the most extensive collections on Drosselmeyer biographies in the entire world," the boy said with a smile.
"Hey, that is luck!" Piké said slamming her fist into the table, causing the drowsy Lilié to jump, "Can we see them?"
"Sorry, ma'am," the little boy said with a shake of his head, "we ain't received them yet."
Piké suddenly lost her balance in a moment of shock, causing her to fall foreword and plant her face firmly in the desk.
"What do you mean 'you haven't received them yet'? This is Goldcrown Town, the historical home of Drosselmeyer! Don't tell me that you just got around to ordering books on the guy!" She said, lifting her head.
The small boy grinned nervously. "Well, funny thing, that. Ya kna the whole 'missin' month' thing from a while back? Well, after it was aw done with, we decided ter take inventory. Aw books seemed accounted for, until we got to the books on Drosselmeyer. Aw books on 'im 'ad vanished. Not only that, but any 'istory or literary book that just 'ad a section or chapter on 'im 'ad those pages torn out. It was very odd..."
Behind Piké, Lilié's half closed eyes suddenly shot open at this news and she leaped forward and reached across the counter to grab the boy by his blazer collar.
"What! Why would anyone do such a thing?" she demanded, showing of real anger rather then fake, over-the top anger that Piké had become accustom to, "The man was a genius. Why would they do such a horrible, horrible thing?"
The boy, looking very terrified as one should when Lilié is in the room, answered frantically, "I daan't know! Nah wahn knows. It 'appened durin' the bloody missing month! Nah wahn can remember a thing!"
Piké chose that moment to step forward. "Lilié, put him down."
She expected Lilié to put up a fight, but the blond girl simply released her grip on the boy's collar and continued to angrily stare at him.
There was a brief pause as Lilié fumed, but once she seemed to calm down to acceptable Lilié levels, Piké decided to continued the conversation. "So someone just stole all books on Drosselmeyer? But we just borrowed 'The Prince and the Raven' yesterday!"
The boy straightened his jacket. "Yeah, that's the really funny part. Aw books about Drosselmeyer were taken, but all books by Drosselmeyer were just vandalized."
"Vandalized?"
"The last few pages of each book 'ad been ripped out."
Piké puzzled over that. "But 'The Prince and the Raven' was still intact," she pointed out.
The boy could only shrug.
Piké sighed. "Well, thanks anyway. We'll just check some of the bookstores in town-"
"Daan't bother," the boy interrupted, "they 'ad the same thin' 'appen ter them. Why do ya think we 'ad ter order them?"
"What?" Piké asked rising a confused eyebrow, "Why would anyone do this to the entire town?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
The pompous voice had come from the great doorway, in which stood a peculiar figure. Thin, with a well kempt uniform and well combed purple hair and a pair of large glasses that shined ominously as he walked forward, a smug smile smeared across his gaunt face. To tell the truth, he did look familiar.
"They were trying to remove him from the town's history," he said smugly. He took a few steps forward, but stopped in his tracks as he noticed Lilié and remained a few paces in front of them.
"Why would any one want to do that?" Lilié asked, returning to her terrifyingly cheery self.
The student snorted. "Are you telling me that you haven't heard the stories? Ever since Drosselmeyer started writing there were rumors that any story written by him would come true. Many of his less fantasy based works looked remarkably similar to events that took place not long after he wrote them. There was even talk of nobles coming to him to commission stories about them in hopes they would come true. The man was rich long before his work started selling."
Piké tilted her head. "Yeah, that's great and all, but why did this make people want to forget him?"
The student fixed his glasses before fixing Piké with a look. "Haven't you two read any of his stories?"
"Why, yes!" Lilié sang, "They are the most beautifully horrific tragedies ever to grace the human imagination!"
The student nodded in agreement. "Now, imagine what would happen if those things occurred in real life."
Lilié put a hand to her chin in thought. Piké could only guess at all the horrifying visions that were going through the blond girl's mind. After a second of pondering the insane implications of Drosselmeyer altering reality as he wishes, Lilié came back from her thoughts and answered in the most sincere way possible with: "Oh, how wonderful!"
Piké expected the student to react the way most people react when Lilié says something like this (with confusion), but much to her surprise, the student just smirked.
"Yes," he said, "the possibilities for such a power are limitless, isn't it? In real hands, it... Well," he trailed off, looking even more smug.
"But..." Piké interrupted, trying to keep the conversation from going places it shouldn't, "all that happened a long time ago, why steal the endings now. It's a little too late to prevent them."
"Because," the student continued, "a story gets power from those who read it. The more who do, the stronger it gets. By leaving his story incomplete, they hoped to weaken Drosselmeyer."
"What are you talking about? Drosselmeyer is dead!"
The student didn't answer immediately, instead fixing the two girls with a nasty smirk.
"Sure he is," was his reply.
He gave one final nod to the pair and with a satisfied grin, he turned and walk off into the shadows of the library...
...Or at least he would have if Lilié hadn't grabbed him by his collar and pined him against the wall.
"Listen here, four-eyes!" she said with uncharacteristic venom, "You just waltz right in here and bad mouthed my hero by calling him a psychotic lunatic!" her voice quivered as she pulled his face up to hers, "do you know what I think of you?"
The student's jaw dropped in fear as Lilié's sheering face got closer and closer and then... she gave him a light kiss on the cheek before running off giggling.
The student spent a minute blushing before turning to Piké and asking "What's with that girl?"
He only got a shrug as an answer.
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The day had been typical for Fakir. First, early morning practice for Duck in the old shed he had found. Today, he noticed some improvement, so she wasn't a total waste of time. Once that was done, he left the duck stretching to attend class.
Once the advanced lessens were over with, he snuck out of class to reconvene with Duck at the shack. It was usually at this time that they spent practicing for the noon-time show, but since he put an end to that, they decided to spend the time at the lake. Even though the broad daylight meant she couldn't dance the way she could at night, it was still good for the two to have some time together. She was really looking forward to relaxing.
But Fakir wasn't sure he could relax. All he could think about throughout his day was the Forgotten King. To others it might seem odd to worry about some random name that he scribbled down for no reason, but those people did not know what he was; that if he wrote something down, then it must be lurking out there somewhere. He had spent the entire night trying to write something, anything, about this mysterious name on a page, only to come up with nothing but blank paper.
Throughout the rest of his day he had been tired but he was able to ignore all those exhausted feeling thanks to a more prevalent feeling: anticipation. There was something watching them, somewhere in the shadow and he had no way of telling what it was.
They approached the Lake of Despair; or rather that's what Drosselmeyer once called it. It was probably just a normal lake now, with barely any of the usual amount of despair that a lake tended to have. Odd that this place would end up meaning so much to the two of them, but fate had a way of doing the most unexpected things, he seemed to be finding.
He walked to the edge of the dock and set Duck down onto the wooden boards where she immediately dropped into the water. She swam out into the middle of the lake, dipping her head into the water looking for food. Fakir watched her dip for a while, then set up his chair and sat down, got out his clipboard and quill, dipped his quill into the bottle of ink held to the surface of the clipboard, and slowly put pen to paper.
And did nothing else.
It was always the same. He could write. He could write pretty well, but it was all about the same thing; Duck. He could write all-day, write all kinds of things about her. But never anything else, he always drew a blank with anything else, even when lives depended on it. He found that out the hard way.
Fakir looked up from his paper and to the small duck in the water. He hadn't told her any of this, fearful of what she might do. The silly little duck might actually go looking for the Forgotten King all by herself. She was always so strong headed, probably why Drosselmeyer had chosen her. He cannot let some other... thing use her. Not again.
He put his quill to the paper and tried to write anything, anything he could on the Forgotten King. Anything that could be useful. He forced the story out, pushing the words through his pen. With each word that plopped onto the page, he gave a grunt. After a moment he surveyed the results of his labor, which were a few words written in an unreadable scrawl:
the KiNg was hAD lOng EarS and BIg fEEt
The clipboard fell on the deck as he covered his face with his hands. Autor was right. He could not write anything that wasn't about Duck. How was he supposed to keep his promise if he could not find out what was after her? Things were going fine until now. Sure, he wasn't making too much progress on his writing, but Duck was safe, Mytho and Rue where happy and no one remembered the time before. Why did this have to happen now? What-
"Quack!"
Fakir's head shot up to see Duck, still wading in the lake but now looking over at Fakir with worrying eye. Fakir gave his normal indication that he was okay, a deep throated grunt, and the relieved duck went back to her swimming.
Briefly reaching down to pick up his clipboard, Fakir decided that the best thing to do was to clear his mind and the best way to clear a troubled mind was to write about Duck.
This time the words came forth naturally, like water rippling down a stream. The noise of his quill scratching the parchment was the only sound he could process, as every letter sailed out of the quill tip, pausing only for more ink.
He could not write of the kind of spectacle that he liked to at night, but depicting her in her daily life suited him just fine. He could and sometimes had written constantly about her and the cute way she swam around the lake, or the way she would adorably stick her tail feathers in the sky when she dunked her head into the water. He had already gone through five pages and was still going when he wrote one peculiar paragraph.
"The little Yellow duck gave a
yawn. It was a peaceful day, one
of clear skies and cool breezes.
The duckling felt safe with her
guardian to protect her. Only he
and the Forgotten King were
watching her."
Fakir's quill immediately stopped, his eyes already on the brushes surrounding the body of water. He was here, somewhere out there. The Forgotten King, hiding in the shade of the trees and leaves of the bushes. He scanned the entire area with his eyes, looking for any sign of movement. The bank was nothing but blotches of green and brown, two colors that dominated the landscape and... wait.
There in the brush to his left was a black splotch. He could only see it out of the corner of his eye but it was there, a stain on the pristine greenage.
Of course, it could have been just his eyes playing tricks on him, but he knew it wasn't. It wouldn't be good storytelling if it was.
"Duck!" he called out to the happy waterfowl, "It is time to leave."
"Quack," the bird replied angrily and flapped her wings in defiance.
"I know it's early," he answered back, "but I need to get back before anyone notices me."
Duck didn't buy that excuse and made that clear with a resounding " Quack quack quack, quack quack quack quack-quack."
Fakir sighed. "I just think we shouldn't talk any chances-"
He was interrupted with an abrupt, "Quack-quack!" and the duck rising her rear-end out off the water in his direction.
Fakir fearfully glanced over to the bank, where the dark splotch was still amongst the bushes. If he acted at all like he knew that it was there, he might risk giving it the opportunity to either attack Duck or flee, nether outcome he felt like invoking. He currently could not let whatever-it-was get away. This may be his only chance.
"Duck, I really think that we should head back," he said, his voice a little softer, "Please."
The waterfowl turned around and gave the student a good, long look in the eyes. They say that if you look someone in the eyes you can stare straight into their sole and tell if they are lying. That may not be true in real life, but in a story it is very real.
The duckling slowly swam back to the dock and fluttered her way up onto it. Fakir folded his chair and lifted the tiny bird onto his chest, carrying his chair in his other hand and followed the path back to town.
As he walked, he paid attention to his surroundings. He kept special eye on the bushes that doted the forest, sometimes in shadow, sometimes bathed in the golden light that poked through the branches and leaves that blocked the sky.
It was quiet as forests tended to be, but as fakir moved on, he could hear a rustling in the distance. At first he thought the obvious, that it was an animal out in the brush somewhere. But then it started to get louder and louder. He came to a stop, inducing a surprised quack from the duck he was holding. Fakir looked about the green and brown around him, looking for any shadows that might besmirch the plants, but saw nothing. After a time, the far-off rustling also stopped. Silence was all that could be heard.
Then he felt something brush past his arm. Instinctively, he looked down to see something that made his blood turn cold. Out of a bush right next to him, a long, pitch-black arm had emerged and was reaching right for Duck, who was looking worriedly up at Fakir and had not taken noticed.
It was the most unnatural arm, too. The fingers of its hand were short and stubby and the arm did not seem to have any joints or muscle. It almost seemed like a long black pole with a hand at the end.
As soon as it was spotted, the arm grabbed Duck's wing, causing her to squawk in distress. Fakir immediately slapped the arm away and it quickly retreated into the brush. Fakir didn't waste any time. He immediately dropped his folding chair and the small bard (who he knew would glide down safely) and gave chase, tearing throw the bushes after the culprit. The thing wasn't hard to spot, its darkness stuck out on the green and brown. It was running at a good clip, weaving around the bushes and leaping over roots. Fakir tried to stay behind it, but he found he was just not fast enough. Whatever this thing was, it moved like an animal and was just as fast. Soon the student lost track of it and had to come to a stop to catch his breath.
Was that it? Was that the Forgotten King?
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The changing room was alive with activity as the female part of Madame Verrückt's ballet class changed for lunch. This was always an exciting time for the students, as, despite the exhaustiveness that usually came with extensive exercise, they were young, energetic and free from having to hear long lectures from a strange germen lady. Eager for the activates that come with such freedom they made quick work of removing their clothes out of the wooden cubbies and changing out of their leotards.
Well, most of them were quick. Piké sat rather sadly on the bench, her left tow shoe half way off. Normally, she would be just as excited as everyone else, chatting with Lilié and Du- uh, chatting with friends and priming for the short reprieve that the lunch break gave her but today had been different.
She thankfully hadn't had another crazy dream, but instead her sleep had been dominated with restlessness. Every hour or so, she would wake up and the go back to sleep after a while of windless wakefulness. By the time the sun rose, Oswald had already left, (not that she cared where that little rodent had run off too). So she endeavored to solve the mystery of her most recent dream by researching the book it was modeled after... and that didn't end so well.
She wasn't even sure she could trust the student with the glasses. On one hand, his story had been far too fanciful to be true, but then again she had been harboring a talking rabbit that claimed to be fictional. She wasn't sure what to believe anymore.
After that, she decided to do the next obvious move, talk with Fakir. After all, he was the one who was currently looking after Duck and no matter how rude he had been with her before, he had to listen when she told him about her dream.
It was a nice, competent plan... except how scarce and distant Fakir usually was. He kept ignoring her attempts to get his attention during Madame Verrückt's lectures and he left as soon as Verrückt was done instructing the advanced class. Yeah, he probably hadn't forgotten about that little incident a few days ago. Not one of her better moments.
After this, she wasn't sure what. The only thing she knew for certain he did was watch the Dancing Duck, but Oswald said... that rabbit said she wouldn't be showing up. She could just go anyway and see if she'd get lucky but...
She sighed. Something was wrong throughout all of this. Something that just nagged at her, that didn't add up.
Her latest dream. She could still see the very last image of it; a broken and defeated Duck lying on the ground, surrounded by half-human crows. Crows that had once been townspeople.
It didn't add up. How did she, Lilié and the rest of the town turn back to normal? What happened with Duck, why was she still a duck? Heck, why was she a duck in the first place? What does all of this have to do with the missing month? And why was Fakir acting so strangely in her dream? In fact, he was acting more than just strangely. Could it be that Oswald was right...?
No! No way was the wonderful Fakir the one behind all this! He would never trap duck in such a way. In fact he probably saved her. Yeah! He must have! He jumped right in and...
She stopped her thoughts, eyes wide. The prince from her dream; that must have been him. It had been too hectic for her to make out, but he was the one duck saved by drawing away the crows, then he must have gotten his second wind, jumped back into the fray and saved duck and her and Lilié and the rest of the townspeople then rode off on his magic unicorn into the night! It made so much sense. She had to talk to Fakir now! It was the only way.
"Miss Piké," said the authoritative voice behind her.
"Yes, Madame Verrückt," Piké said, turning to face her instructor.
"You shouldn't treat your toe shoes that way." Verrückt said simply.
Piké, confused, looked down to her hand and saw that she had been crushing her shoe in her fist, probably when she was caught up in the moment.
"Sorry, Madame Verrückt," Piké apologized as she removed her other shoe and placed them both into her cubby.
"Think nothing of it, Miss Piké," Verrückt answered, "just be careful, that is all that needs to be said. Now hurry up. Everyone else is already dressed."
"Right," she said, but as her teacher started to walk away she asked, "do you know were Senior Fakir is?"
Verrückt turned back with a raised eyebrow. "If it is of the romantic persuasion, Miss Piké, I think it best to warn you that Mr. Fakir is not interested in-"
"No, no," Piké said hastily, "I, uh... just want to talk ballet with him. You know, maybe he could give me a few tips."
Verrückt's expression did not change. "I do not know where Mr. Fakir goes when he leaves this class. I very much would like to, as he does so far too much then I would like, but I do not."
"Oh, okay, thanks." Piké said deceptively, expecting Verrückt to turn away again. She did not.
"Miss Piké," the instructor suddenly said, her voice serious, "I understand from the volunteer librarian that you were attempting to gather information today on the infamous Mr. Drosselmeyer."
"Yes." Piké answered.
"My least favorite author," she said dismissively, "Oh, and congratulations on your quick recovery." Suddenly she jumped into one of the cubbies, the door closing behind her. After a moment, nothing came out, so Piké quickly dressed and left.
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Lilié waited happily in front of the entrance to the ballet building, her hands behind her back and a large grin on her face (a clear sign to anyone that knew her to stay away).
She was waiting for Piké, who had been mopey all morning through class and it was just the most precious thing! She was especially cute when she had that far off look in her eye. It had been enough to cheer Lilié up after hearing those horrible things about Herr Drosselmeyer.
Drosselmeyer had been her hero. When she was a little girl, the only thing she had to entertain herself where his stories. She would search her family library for one and smuggle it to her room without any of her brothers seeing and read it once, twice, maybe three times over before attempting to put it back. Those were some of the best memories in her sick little mind. If it hadn't been for those stories, she may not be the girl she was today, and we couldn't have that could we?
"Lilié!"
The blond haired girl gave her fellow ballet student a friendly wave as the two converged and began their walk.
"Lilié," Piké began, "we need to find Fakir. I've got a very bad feeling-"
"Really? That's great! I've got a bad feeling, too! It just makes me all warm inside..."
"Too much information! Look, we'll split up and ask around. Someone must know where he is."
"Where who is?" said Oswald.
"The wonderful Fakir, of course!" Piké shot back.
"Well he doesn't seem so wonderful if you ask me."
"Well, no one asked..." Piké suddenly stopped and turned around to find the small rabbit standing right behind them, looking very worse-for-wear. His blue coat was covered in leaves and his long ears were tangled in twigs. He was also breathing heavily.
"What happened?" Piké asked with worry... until she remembered that she was supposed to be angry with him. "What happened to you?" she repeated more coldly.
Oswald gave a snort as he brushed the leaves off his coat.
"Oh, nothing," he mused "I just did something stupid."
"That's nice," Lilié said, her sunny disposition growing brighter, "we just found out my childhood hero was a depraved nut job! Isn't that wonderful!"
Forcing herself not to roll her eyes, Piké explained, "We went to the library to find out all we could on Drosselmeyer, but all info was missing. Then that nerdy guy from the other day came by and told us that anything he wrote came true."
"Well, of course everything he wrote came true," Oswald said folding his arms.
Piké had to blink at that. "What?"
"As long as you believe in a story, it will always be real!" He said in a voice so sweet that Lilié almost gagged.
"No, no, no," Piké interrupted, "you don't understand. He said that anything he wrote came true in the real world."
The little dots of Oswald's eyes grew wide. "The real world? You mean this real world?"
"Yes, that's what he said, I'm sure of it"
"Anything he wrote?"
"Yes, I think so..."
But she was interrupted when Oswald started jumping around ecstatically.
"He was a spinner! Of course! It makes sense. Then that means..." he trailed off as his little dots once again went wide, "All that writing he's been doing! That's the connection!" He turned to leave.
Piké moved after him, however. "Wait! What connection? What's a spinner?"
Oswald turned back apologetically, "Sorry, can't explain. I need to find Fakir again."
"But I thought you were following him?"
"Yeah, well..." he paused in an embarrassed manner, "I had to lose him after I tried to grab Duck."
"You tried to grab Duck!" The student retorted angrily.
"I said it was stupid."
"I'll say! Get over here!"
"Sorry, but I need to find them before Fakir tries something else." And with that, the rabbit hopped off out of sight.
"Wait!" Piké shouted in vain, "You can trust Fakir! I know you can!"
She finally stopped her screaming when she realized that screaming at thin air would do nothing and decided to spend her time doing more productive activities like stomping the ground in a huff.
"Fine, you want to go running around grabbing poor defenseless ducks, you can do that while I be the responsible one! Come on, Lilié," she whined as she stormed off.
Lilié, who had been thoroughly enjoying the argument, immediately followed after Piké, humming a happy tune.
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The church was, like most things in Goldcrown Town, very, very old. It stood at the focal point where several streets converged and towered over the quaint little houses that surrounded it with its majestic bell tower. One would be able to see the entire town from the top of this mighty white steeple. However, the stairwell into the bell tower had long ago been sealed and as far as anyone knew it was impossible to scale the tower.
Which is why it was very odd for Fakir to be standing on the balcony at the very top of the tower, looking over the magnificent vista. The oddities continued as Autor stepped out of the archway behind him, not looking at all pleased.
"Well?" Fakir asked, "Did you get it?"
Autor growled and took out a piece of paper. But this was no ordinary piece of paper. It was white and glimmered in the sun. And bordering the paper were lines of golden wreath weaving in and out of itself. It was truly the most elegant piece of stationary ever conceived.
As Fakir took the paper and placed it onto his clipboard, Autor could only sneer at his reluctant companion.
"Are you sure this is wise," he said with his usual amount of contempt, "surly he has better things to do than bother with a writer who can't write."
"He'll come," was Fakir's only answer as he wrote a message on the glossy paper. Not a story, just a simple note asking for help. He was done quickly and held out his hand to Autor.
The other boy rolled his eyes as he handed Fakir an envelope made of the same shiny paper. With it in hand, Fakir began to fold his letter and slip it in side of the envelope.
As this was going on, Autor glanced about the small tower room, noticing the distinct lack of yellow feathers.
"Not that I care," he said in a way that made it clear that he didn't, "but where is your little avian friend? I thought she would be here."
"I left her back at our room," Fakir said without looking back.
"Funny," the other boy said with a snort, "I thought it would love to be here for this."
"She doesn't know what's going on."
"Really? Weren't you two attacked?"
"She didn't see it. She was looking away. She thinks I chased off an animal."
"I see," Autor said with a smirk, "funny how you insist it's not a pet, yet you keep treating it like one."
If this angered Fakir, he did not show it. He finished sealing the envelop and as soon as he did, it erupted in a bright light. Fakir tossed the light off into the air where it morphed into a white dove and fluttered into the blue sky.
Autor watched it go until it was lost amongst the clouds, then he turned and pushed past Fakir, walking into the tower.
"It won't be until tonight that we hear anything from them. No point in staying here," he said as he headed for the stairs, "I don't want to keep you from your pet." Fakir did not say a thing as he heard the door slam behind him.